


Bigger than most

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dirty Talk, Eavesdropping, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hair-pulling, Jaskier pulling the reigns, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Big Dick, M/M, No Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Size Kink, Size queen Geralt, Thirsty Geralt, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voice Kink, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: "He's achingly hard - like a dirty voyeur, eavesdropping on his comrade fucking another man, while jacking off to that and sucking his fingers. He feels dirty to enjoy it, twisted and defiled.Geralt's skin burns with shame and how he wants more. He craves it."---Geralt is positively obsessed with Jaskier's package but too proud to speak his mind.While staying at an inn twin rooms, he can't help to overhear the other during a fling and well.Sexiness ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Witchery AU goodness [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 41
Kudos: 748
Collections: Dandelion, The Witcher





	Bigger than most

**Author's Note:**

> My wife requested that. I usually don't write explicit stuff so please forgive me.
> 
> Still no beta, still no English as my first language. Please enjoy ♡

Geralt has no idea why the bard follows him.

There are certainly other ways to find fortune or fame or whatever the boy craves but instead he attached himself to one of the most dangerous things on the continent. Worst of all - he isn't even a bit afraid. The typical tinge of fear in the air surrounding him is horrendously absent. He smells like wildflowers, the soap he continually uses and lust. His attempts at scaring him off didn't phase the bard. Hell - they've been abducted by elves right after they met and he shrugs it off like nothing happened, strumming on his new lute in delight.

This guy is either insane or an idiot without a sense of preservation. It's probably a mix of both.

Still Geralt can't shake him off. So he surrenders. As soon he finds whatever he's after he'll leave anyway.

It's surprisingly easy to grow used to his company though. He's shocked to find he isn't bothered by the constant chatter anymore after just a few weeks. Or the lute playing. Fuck. He's far too soft for his own good. He'll probably even miss him after he left, like a dog you fed that returns home then instead of coming back. He doesn't want that. That's why he doesn't keep someone around besides Roach.

Something that surprises him even more is the sheer size of Jaskier's dick. It's not like he never saw a huge cock before - fuck he's very well-endowed himself. But he's a witcher, heavily mutated and way bigger in his whole form. Jaskier doesn't miss much from his height but a lot of his mass so it's… irritating.

The first time they're naked around each other is to take a bath in a river bed. There's blood, dirt and monster guts all over him from wiping a nest of harpies, a proper soak is direly needed. The bard isn't faring much better, though there's no blood on him, one of the beasts attacked him so he had to dive down into the mud. Dried dirt cakes his chest and clings to his body like a second skin. He's not wearing it very well.

Their clothes have to go, soon they're naked like on they day they were born. And Geralt stares. Like really hard. The cock nestled between the bards legs is long and slim, even in it's limp state good ten inches, with a slight curve and a plump head. Its' size makes his mouth go dry and he wonders how the hell the boy packs this thing into the tight pants he wears without it showing through. He might have stared a bit too long, because cornflower blue meets yellow and Jaskier has the audacity to wink.

"Like what you see?"

Little cheeky fucker. He's lucky he's pretty or else-

Geralt stops himself from finishing that thought and pointedly turns around to hide his embarrassment. Where did that come from?!

He makes sure to douse himself himself in the cold water. Maybe it helps to clear his head.

+++

It doesn't. It just gets worse after time.

Jaskier isn't helpful in the least, with his constant flirting and dropped innuendos. To be fair the bards flirts with anything on two legs, that is visually pleasing him, so it probably means nothing. Still he can't keep his eyes from wandering down Jaskier's backside more often, taking in the firm shape of his hind, hugged tightly by ridiculously bright pants.

He begins to wonder how the bard's thighs would feel in his hands. They're fit from walking everywhere, still not bulgy like his own. If they'd give in under his wandering fingers, soft against the calloused feel of battle-worn palms. Would Jaskier tangle those long finger into his hair? He enjoys having it pulled, sadly most whores he beds are to afraid to touch him properly. Jaskier wouldn't be. He isn't afraid. He'd be generous with his touches, fingers slipping down his chisled chest, maybe leaving scratch marks in their wake. He's definitely talkative, even during fucking, praises spilling from those sweet pink lips, while his fist tangles in silvery hair, keeping Geralt in place while sucking his-

He downs the rest of his ale and leaves the inn without another word, not waiting to inform his companion about his destination and leaving the tap to him.

He needs to get properly laid. And he needs it fast.

+++

Turns out no matter how much he fucks, it doesn't take off the edge. All whores Geralt can get his hands on, can't get this itch scratched deep inside of him. Frustration rises quickly and he's just too angry at himself for _gagging for the fucking bard's cock_.

Usually he's leaning more towards women but he had a few run-ins with man as well. All of them wanted to be dominated by him, whimpering under his massive form while he fucked them into oblivion. First he had been convinced the bard wasn't any different but now… he wasn't that sure anymore.

Maybe he was imagining things but it felt like the bard had a dominant streak under all his flourish appearance. Geralt begins to notice it's the bard setting the beat for his sexual encounters, pulling all the bad punchlines before dragging off his object of desire. With his advanced hearing, he can witness what the other mutters into a smith's ear he had flirted with for 15 minutes straight, while the Witcher purchases some ingredients for his potions from a stall across the street.

" _Bet you'd look lovely on your knees for me, dressed in just that apron of yours._ "

The words send a shiver down his spine, leaving him bothered and wanting, hot all over. He almost drops the bottle he's holding. Damn that bard and the stupid sexy voice of his.

When he turns around both of them are gone. Grumbling under his breath, he leaves to get himself new gear and a strong ale, something else besides lust burning in his gut.

+++

The bard beds men and women alike, sometimes at the same time. Once more Geralt is angry about getting the room next to his, because Jaskier has taken another of those flings with him. The walls aren't very sturdy to begin with and even when covering his ears with the pillow, he can still hear them. He can hear Jaskier, his voice dropped low, practically purring.

" _That's it, touch yourself for me_. _I want to see all of you."_

Geralt groans in frustration. He lies on top of the covers, only in his breeches and he's just getting hard from listening. Since when is he so desperate? The air around him feels hot, stuffy, but he can't bring himself to get up and open the window.

" _You like that, don't you? You're a naughty one. I like that._ "

Oh god. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from making a sound. This is just ridiculous and embarrassing and, and-

_He wants it._

He wants the damn bard here with him, not with some half-assed stranger, taking him apart, piece by piece, until he's melting from pleasure. His stupid pride keeps him from a pretty decent fuck, he's sure, because what if it's weird? What if he fucks it up and Jaskier will be gone for good after he ruined what they had?

He's pulled from his thoughts by a groan that sends a tingle down his spine. It's the bard, his voice dark and husky, dripping like molten honey.

" _Don't be shy, look at me._ "

Oh fuck he'd look at him. Into those too blue eyes raking down his body, looking at him with longing, like he's about to devour him. Geralt wants it. He wants Jaskier to eat him up, to sink his teeth straight through the skin until he draws blood.

Fuck, he want that so bad.

His own hands are roaming his body now, squeezing his pecs then moving to his nipples. His breath hitches. He's always been sensitive there.

_"Oh that's good. Do it again."  
  
_

It's easy to pretend Jaskier is talking to him, so he kneads the firm muscles under his palm, cursing quietly over the scratch of rough hands against sensitive skin. He's wandering deeper then, over the planes of his trained belly to his pelvis, drawing his nails over the skin there. A low groan escapes him as red, angry welts rise against the pale surface. His cock is rock hard in his pants, aching to be touched. Without much bravado he loosens the strings on top and shoves the offending material down to his ankles. He can't be bothered to take it off completely, too entranced in the situation.

The grip on his own, hard dick borders on painful but it's deliciously tight and _so good_. Geralt strokes himself in a quick motion, wanting to get this done with. He wants to come.  
  


" _Getting impatient, hmn? Oh no that's too easy… take it slow. Make it sweet._ "  
  


His hand slows down automatically and he curses the fucking bard again. How could he dare to sounds so demanding and sexy at the same time? The Witcher doesn't know why he should listen in the first place. He can do whatever he wants, the other is not here.

He doesn't though, his hand moving in unbearable slow strokes now, bordering on torture. His whole body is aching, hot and bothered, wanting to be filled, wanting to be used. Wrecked properly.

" _That's a good boy._ "

  
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jaskier shut up.  
  


" _I think those lips would look very pretty, stretched around my cock. Wanna have a taste?_ "

He moans embarrassingly loud and hopes it's muffled by the answering groan from Jaskier's fucktoy. He wants it very much. But there's no dick for him, no bard to fill him up until he can feel the large prick resting in the back of his throat. He wouldn't even gag from it. The mutation took that reflex away, to ensure they could down even the nastiest brew to aid them in fights.

Instead he shoves three of his fingers into his mouth and it's more than he has ever taken a cock before. Jaskier would be bigger. But he's not here.

An obscene slurping noise rolling through the wall makes him tremble, accompanied by a hoarse chuckle.

" _You're definitely good at that. Look at you, all flushed and roughed up for me. You're stunning._ "

Whimpering around his fingers Geralt sucks with more force, pressing his tongue against the Digits, while teasing the head of his dick, thumbing at the slit. It's leaking precome like it's drooling and matches his mouth perfectly. It's so nasty and messy and _so good_. The Witcher doesn't want it to end.

The hot coil in his lower region while he fondles his balls tells him otherwise. He's close. Achingly hard like a dirty voyeur, eavesdropping on his comrade fucking another man, while jacking off to that and sucking his fingers. He feels dirty to enjoy it, twisted and defiled. 

His skin burns with shame and how he wants more. _He craves it_.

" _You're close aren't you? Don't be ashamed. You were so good for me. Let me see you come undone for me._ "

God the bard just won't stop talking.

His hand falls free from his mouth, dripping with spit as he greedily gulps in some air. Instead it moves into his hair, twisting in the strands and he's pulling, while tugging his length especially rough and _fuck_. His body bucks off the mattress in a desperate move, straining his back in the chase for more. He bites his lip again, to quieten the undignified mewl threatening to escape and tastes copper on his tongue.

It's so much and not enough. He's so close, he just wants to come.

_Please, please Jaskier, please._

For once his prayers are heard. Another soft but breathy chuckle reaches his ears.

_"So beautiful. So perfect. Come for me._ "

And he does. With another sharp tug to his hair and a delicious twist of his wrist he comes with a shout, spilling all over his fist and some on the sheets. At least he's lucky enough not to yell the bard's name. He has degraded himself enough for one evening.

Slumping back to the bedding, he just lies there, trying to catch his breath. It's gone strangely quiet in the next room, so he basks in the afterglow of his orgasm and listens some more. There's shuffling and then steps, out of the door and down the corridor. Looks like the fling has left. Not that it matters to him, in any away. But with the stamina of a Witcher he'd be up for another round sooner than later, if he were with the other. He isn't though.

Rolling off the bed after slipping out of his pants with a low rumble, he walks to the other side of the room, where a small basin with water is located. Geralt cleans himself until no trace of his misstep is left behind, tries to tame his dishevelled hair afterwards. He doesn't know why he's doing it. It's not like someone will see him like this anyway.

A sharp knock on the door wrings him from his thoughts. Grumbling again, he quickly wraps a towel lying next to the basin around his hip before opening up.

There's Jaskier leaning against the frame, upper body bare, smirking like the cat that just got the cream. He's wearing a looser pair of pants, that's still sporting an impressive bulge because obviously _he didn't come_. And now he's here for Geralt.

Shit.

"So I assume you enjoyed our little show? The walls aren't exactly thick and I never pegged you for being so… vocal."

Jaskier's gaze burns on his skin, his smell drenched with warmth, musk and _want_. It makes his temperature spike again, traitorous blood already wandering south.

He doesn't trust his mouth to form proper words. Good for him the bard's much better in that field. He's leaning closer, hot breath ghosting over Geralt's ear.

"I wouldn't object to be the one wringing another high from your body - as long you come, screaming my name."

Gods his damn voice is so deep, alluring and dangerous. Geralt can't help himself. He grabs the other by his upper arm, dragging him inside, slamming the door shut which muffles Jaskier's horny cackle.

Maybe he's desperate and a slut. At least it's worth it.   
No better than that, he reminds himself, as he comes again and again, being used and filled by his bard to the brim, pushed to his limits.

It's fucking amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very appreciated 😘


End file.
